Coda

Coda: (noun). In music, it is a few measures added beyond the natural termination of a composition.

It is not an act of desperation.

Desperation implies that you actually care. If the truth were told, I stopped caring a long time ago. So it's not an act of desperation--it's an act of apathy.

It wasn't always like that. Five years ago, if you told me that I would resort to the most selfish thing a person can do, I would've told you that you were crazy. But now I don't really see what's so wrong with being selfish. All those years, I'd been getting up in the morning, putting one foot in front of the other, and breathing in and out solely for proving myself. Now, Muggle jobs are impossible to find without a college education, and Wizarding jobs are impossible to find when you're Hermione Granger.

I got a telephone call from my mother today. She's retiring with dad this year and doesn't think she can afford to support me anymore.

I honestly do not know how I am going to survive.

And I do not care whether or not survive.

I have sent Harry the necklace he gave me when I turned eighteen. His life is better without mine in it. He and Ron both have made that much abundantly clear. Perhaps he can give that necklace to someone more worthy of it. Perhaps he can give the necklace to the next damsel in distress who needs to be saved from the troll.

All my life I spent myself on the things I cared about and the people I believed in. I worked for the liberation of House-Elves, the freedom of Sirius Black, the safety of Harry Potter and other various and as sundry lost causes. The truth is, none of it mattered. I don't matter. The point is, my entire youth was spent cleaning up after Harry, making sure that he didn't lose his grip on reality, making sure that he was ready to face whatever it was that came his way. The war was over. Harry had won like the hero should. Lo and behold, Harry didn't need me after all, and I was left with nothing but a shattered existence, and neither Harry, nor Ron, nor even my parents came to pick up the pieces. I may have had the best O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. scores in my class, but those are all meaningless if you don't know how to use the knowledge you were given. You can't exactly put 'covering up for Harry Potter and getting him out of trouble' on a curriculum vitae.

The Death Curse rarely works on suicides because few people actually intend to terminate themselves. This is not about crying for help. When Harry tried to kill himself our seventh year, he was crying for help. This is about giving up. I can't do it anymore. I intend to give up.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I am standing on the edge of a glassy lake surrounded by a mist of fog. Hermione is dressed in white robes and was sitting on a boat that was tied to the dock with a well-worn, flimsy rope.

She is close enough to the shore that I can see her face.

I try to shout her name to tell her to come ashore. But no sound is coming from my throat.

The look in her eyes isn't desperate. It is just resolved, empty, devoid of any spark of humanity. I have been scared of many things in my life, but I've never been more terrified.

She reaches down and cuts the rope with her wand, and there is nothing I can do but stand helplessly on the shore.

Familiar green light flashes in front of my eyes, and I bolt upright in a panic, feeling vaguely as though I were being Portkeyed to one reality in which I am in my Professor's Quarters at Hogwarts, from that other reality on the lake. For a split second, I thought I saw her at the foot of my bed, pale and transparent, and I felt...empty. Something is wrong. Very wrong.

I don't need a Dementor around to make me feel as though there'd be no more happiness, and a piece of chocolate was not going to cure the sense of dread and grief that hung over me.

The first ones to leave me were my parents, then Sirius, then Dumbledore, then too many others to count. I think it would only be a half-life if they took her, too.

I fumble with my robe and in my haste, nearly forget my wand. As an afterthought, I grab my Invisibility Cloak and tear down Hogwarts' dark hallways, ignoring Peeves and Nearly Headless Nick and making my way to the Shrieking Shack so that I can Apparate there since she doesn't have a fireplace in her apartment. Please dear God, let her be alive is my silent mantra as I Apparate to Hermione's flat from the Shrieking Shack.

I knock on her door.

Silence.

My heart sinks to my feet.

I try the door, and find it unlocked.

But I am too late.

She's on the floor.

Cold.

I can't even scream.

'She can't be dead,' is my new silent mantra, even though I know better.

I can't seem to turn my eyes away from her body.

Through my haze, I manage to look out of the corner of my eye and catch a glimpse of a book of poetry by someone named Dorothy Parker. A page with a poem at the top entitled Coda was earmarked.

There's little in taking or giving,

There's little in water or wine;

This living, this living, this living

Was never a project of mine.

Oh, hard is the struggle, and sparse is

The gain of the one at the top,

For art is a form of catharsis,

And love is a permanent flop,

And work is the province of cattle,

And rest's for a clam in a shell,

So I'm thinking of throwing the battle-

Would you kindly direct me to hell?

I'd never really read much poetry. Hogwarts doesn't teach it. But just then, I decidedly hate it.

This can't be it...

"She sent you that necklace you gave her for her eighteenth birthday the other day, didn't she?" My Inner Voice piped up.

I thought it was just her way of cutting me out of her life, I thought.

"You gave Ron your Firebolt when you wanted to..." Inner Voice didn't need to finish the rest of that sentence.

There has to be a way...

She's not...

"But there's nothing I can do to turn back time," I'm not sure whether or not I say this aloud.

"Not if your best mate has a Time Turner..."And finally, my Inner-Voice has a helpful suggestion.

Reverse the events! Time-turner! That's it! Ron has a time-turner! Illegally, and if the Ministry finds out about it, we'll both be in Azkaban before you can say Quidditch, but I don't think they'll mind me changing the course of history just one more time. And besides, if it can bring her back, I'll go to Azkaban without a fight.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I am not surprised to find Ron up at this hour.

He works as an Unspeakable in the Time-Turner department, and late hours are not at all something foreign to him, but the look on his face when he answers the door tells me that he wasn't awake for work-related reasons.

I'm guessing that he's awake for the same reason I am awake. I think I mumble something, but I'm not sure at this point if I'm actually saying something coherent.

He must have understood, because a few minutes later, Ron emerges with his time-turner. He flips it without hesitation, and we Apperate to Hermione's flat.

"What happened?" Ron asks before we go in. I put a silencing charm around us, not wanting anyone to overhear the conversation, because I can not loose time casting Memory Charms. "Who killed her? Because if I ever find the fucker who killed her...." I have to cut him off. I don't want him to hate her for that. Oh damn...if he hates her for that, did he hate me for doing the same thing? If he hated me, then why did he...

"Maybe he was trying to give himself a reason not to hate me?" Inner-voice puts in. "Perhaps that's why things didn't work out. Perhaps he never really stopped hating me for it."

"No one," I shout, putting up a silencing charm around us. "No-one killed her."

Ron pales, but the anger hasn't left his face. He doesn't say anything for a while, so I give him the answer I'm fairly sure he needs right now--at least one of them, at any rate.

"I'm not an Auror, but this book was opened to a poem that had a line about throwing the battle. I didn't see signs of anyone else having been there...she was just lying there...and her wand was still in her..." I draw in a breath, unable to finish the sentence.

It was a long time before Ron spoke.

"What do we do?" he finally says. "Say, 'Hey, Hermione, long time no see! Harry found you dead here and it just so happens I had my time-turner on hand, so we were in the neighborhood and wondering if you were up for a round or two at The Leaky Cauldron?'"

It only now occurs to me that I never actually formulated a plan of action.

"What did you do when you found my note our seventh year?" I say, being careful to keep the bitterness out of my voice. I'm not trying to air out dirty laundry--least of all mine, merely trying to jog his memory. By the shade of red the tips of his ears have turned, I am fairly certain that his memory is sufficiently jogged.

"That was different!" He protests. "This is Hermione we're talking about here. She's not going to want...if she wanted that, she would've said something a long time ago."

"You two fought like old marrieds all through school, and she was the one who started most of the spats. So don't tell me all that bickering wasn't foreplay."

"That was different," he insists. "That was then."

"Look, mate, I don't know what else to do. Hermione was always the one who came up with the plans. I'm not saying you have to do that, exactly, just...she needs something to live for. She needs to know she's wanted."

His face falls. "If I'm not good enough, she'll..."

I abruptly end that train of thought with the deepest kiss I can possibly manage. I haven't kissed him in a long time, and I'd nearly forgotten how much I liked kissing my best mate. "You're good enough," I whisper.

"Follow your lead?" he asks. I nod as I smooth his hair and remove the silencing charm.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

When I hear voices outside my door, I hope it's just my conscience talking, trying to convince me that I shouldn't do what I'm about to do.

My hopes are dashed to the ground when I hear a timid knocking on my door.

"Who in Merlin's name knocks on people's doors at this hour?" I wonder aloud.

I do not expect to see Ron and Harry of all people through my peep-hole. Steeling a furtive glance at my book of Dorothy Parker poetry on the table, I open the door and try to look as cheerful as possible in hopes that they will go away.

Harry's got the same wildly determined expression he had on his face before his attempt to rescue Sirius from the Department of Mysteries. Ron tucks something away in his pocket. I look at both of them quizzically, and it's a long while before any of us speak.

"Yes?" I say irritably.

"I was just wondering..." Harry begins awkwardly, "if you're all right. We were...er...is there was any particular reason that you returned the necklace I gave you?" he blurts out. I notice that he's glancing at my Dorothy Parker book as if it's a ticking time bomb.

"Harry found you dead," Ron informs me angrily. It is not the fiery temper that is his usual reaction to things. This is cold rage. Something else lurks behind his eyes, as well. Guilt, perhaps? Guilt I am familiar with, but the cold rage is completely alien coming from him, and it terrifies me.

"Ron!" Harry warns, but the gauntlet has already been thrown down.

Before I can stop him, Ron runs over to the side-table and picks up the poetry book, and opens it up to the page I have marked.

"You want to throw it all away?" Ron asks in an almost-whisper, tears coursing down his cheeks.

I don't know what I'm afraid of more--the fact that they discovered my dirty secret or that Harry doesn't seem to be denying what Ron just said.

"Leave!" I tell them in tones fierce and low. My wand is pointed at Harry's chest. I know that Ron is at Harry's heels, so it doesn't matter much whether or not Ron feels the pointed end of the wand or not. "Leave, or I'll report you to the Ministry at once, informing them that one of their own and a Hogwarts Professor took advantage of an authorized Time Turner. Think very carefully. Am I really worth everything, gentlemen?"

"Yes," they both answer at once. Their expressions are now equally unreadable, and for the first time in my life, I don't know what to do.

I have to sit down at that response. I was not expecting that at all.

I can't look at either of them. I make an intense study of the carpet at my feet.

"You want to be 'directed to hell'?" Ron says, his tone thick with anger. "I'd wager we're fairly close."

Without thinking, I punch him in the groin as hard as I can. He doubles over in pain, and I've only seen Harry that close to hitting me once before.

"Leave or I'll notify the Aurors immediately," I say to him.

"Your track record for making good on threats isn't exactly stellar," Harry says venomously.

"I DIDN'T THREATEN!" I roar, not caring at the moment that a Silencing Charm wasn't placed, "YOU FOUND ME! AND NOW YOU'RE HERE! ILLEGALLY, I MIGHT ADD!" I punch Harry in the stomach several times as hard as I can. "Unlike you," I say once he's doubled over in pain and incapable of response. "I chose not to leave a note."

"Decided to try the easy way out on for size, eh?" Harry rasps. "You were always smarter than that."

"Well, if that isn't the wand calling the broomstick wood," I snort.

"Harry," Ron reminds him needlessly, "if I hadn't found you in time, you would've..."

"Shut the fuck up, Ron," he answers.

"How the hell can you do that?" Ron demands. "After everything. Just give up like that?" he glares at Harry and adds: "both of you."

"That's IT!" THAT'S ENOUGH! OUT! OR YOU'LL GO OUT IN A BODY BAG!" I scream, I manage to flip his wand out of his hand and I tackle him to the floor. Harry tries to get me off Ron, but I manage to throw him to the floor as well, knocking his wand out of his hand as he falls to the ground.

"Along with you?" Ron says coldly.

All those years of fighting Trolls, Death Eaters and beasts of every description finally pay off when my former best friends are trying to stop me from ending my own life, and the irony does not escape me.

My wand is on the side-table, and they are both doubled over on the floor. If I can just reach it soon enough, it'll all be over...

*~*~*~*~*~*~

We may not have talked for a while, but I still consider them my best mates. You just don't ignore the better part of every waking minute of seven years like it was nothing.

My two best mates have both wanted to kill themselves at some point in our lives together. First Harry tried. He would've gone through with it if I had gotten there a second later.

And now Hermione wants to end her life, and despite her unspoken protests, I know I'm responsible for it in some way, and that kills me.

And they wonder why I have an infreeorty complex...or whatever it is Hermione called it back then.

I don't fucking care what Hermione wants. I don't fucking care what Harry wants, either. Right now, I am not going to let Harry loose someone else close to him. He's lost too many people as it is. I'm not going to let myself loose Hermione, either.

Hermione had her wand pointed at her head.

"EXPELLIARMUS!" Harry shouts. The spell is effective without his wand, and I am grateful for the fact that my best mate is a very powerful wizard. Her hands are above her head, her wand is on the floor, and we're both standing. She may be able to take on a few Death Eaters, but I've had to fight five brothers all my life.

"Give me my wand!" Hermione sounds a lot like Charlie's two-year-old daughter Elizabeth right now, who has just learned what property is. She begins hitting me in the chest over and over, but it doesn't hurt, so I just stand there, letting her use me as a punching bag.

I was prepared to break it if I had to. I knew Harry would, too.

She's just screaming at us now. "Give me my wand! Get out! Give me my wand!" over and over again. She finally collapses onto my chest, and I put my arms around her, murmuring that everything is all right into her ear. It's more of a prayer than a reassurance, but at least it is heard.

Harry's joined us, wrapping his arms around us both, laying his head on her shoulder.

We just stand there for what seems like ages, just holding each other like that.

"Why?" I asked, trying to keep the hurt out of my voice. I am resisting the urge to kiss the back of her neck. Doing that right now might have too many complications, and I just don't think I could deal with losing her again. She's shaking softly, but that's the only indication that she heard me, so I just wrap my arms around her waist and let her fall back into me.

I've wanted to hold her like this since...well...really since Harry and I rescued her from that troll. The irony hits me just then that we are getting reacquainted because she's in trouble again. Only this time the monster is nothing that we can fight.

Harry's standing in front of her now, and has her face cupped gently in his hands.

"I know why," Harry answers, voice shaking with emotion. "You thought you had nothing left. And if we allowed you to believe that for one second, I don't think I deserved you as a friend."

"Why did you?" Hermione asks him. It's something I've wondered for the last six years, too, but never even had the courage to ask.

"Because I thought Voldemort took everything I had to give," he answered. I place a hand on his shoulder to reassure him of my presence. "I thought he was going to win, and I had to take away that victory from him."

He was crushing Hermione now, sobbing shamelessly on my shoulder. Hermione didn't seem to protest, though.

It is a long time before I know what to do, so I just hold them both.

"I don't know what it's like to want to die," I say finally. "But I know without a doubt that I'd want to if something happened to you," I'm speaking to both of them. I think they know that.

We tumble onto her bed.

A flurry of hands and mouths and a chorus of contented sighs later, she pulls me up into a hungry kiss. Then she turns to Harry, and kiss him with equal ferocity.

I think I hear Hermione mutter a "Thank you," but I am not sure. It goes without saying.

I am spooned against Hermione who is on my left, and Harry is spooned against me on my right. And I think I'm on top of the world.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I am standing on the edge of a glassy lake surrounded by a mist of fog. Hermione is dressed in white robes and was sitting on a boat that was tied to the dock with a well-worn, flimsy rope.

She is close enough to the shore that I can see her face.

I try to shout her name to tell her to come ashore. But no sound is coming from my throat.

The look in her eyes isn't desperate. It was just resolved, empty, devoid of any spark of humanity. I have been scared of many things in my life, but I'd never been more terrified.

She reaches down and cuts the rope with her wand, and there is nothing I could do but stand helplessly on the shore.

Green light flashed in front of my eyes, and I bolted upright in a panic, feeling vaguely as though I were being Portkeyed from one reality in which I am in my Professor's Quarters at Hogwarts, from that other reality on the lake. For a split second, I thought I saw her at the foot of my bed, pale and transparent, and I felt...empty. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

I didn't need a Dementor around to make me feel as though there'd be no more happiness, and a piece of chocolate was not going to cure the sense of dread and grief that hung over me.

I fumble with my robe and in my haste, nearly forget my wand. As an afterthought, I grab my Invisibility Cloak and tear down Hogwart's dark hallways, ignoring Peeves and Nearly Headless Nick and making my way to the Shrieking Shack so that I can Apparate there since she doesn't have a fireplace in her apartment. Please dear God, let her be alive is my silent mantra as I Apparate to Hermione's flat from the Shrieking Shack.

I knock on her door.

Silence.

My heart sinks to my feet.

I try the door, and find it unlocked.

I don't hear anything.

Fearing the worst, I make my way slowly and stealthily through the flat.

There's a book strewn across the floor. I pick it up, and find the page it was opened to. A poem called Coda by someone named Dorothy Parker is marked. Confused, I make my way across the room and find three robes on the floor. One of them is exactly identical to the one I'm wearing. If my glasses weren't on my face, I'd be swearing that those were my glasses on the side-table.

I've decided that whoever was here has gone and--

There's a contended sigh coming from the bedroom, the door to which is slightly ajar. It is a sigh that sounds vaguely familiar--and decidedly not female.

Under the protection of the Invisibility Cloak, I risk a look inside.

Relief is quickly replaced with confusion as I see Hermione's hair spilled across a pillow, and a flash of hair I can only assume belongs to a Weasley and my form is .

My mind races through the billion possibilities, but I can't ignore the fact that we all look completely at peace--something I don't think I've ever experienced.

I make a mental note to talk to Hermione and Ron as soon as possible as I make my way back to my Professor's Quarters.

"Maybe Ron and I didn't work out because Hermione was missing from the puzzle," Inner-voice suggests. Mark this day on your calendar, everyone. Inner-voice is correct twice in the space of an hour.

I hope I can find the necklace Hermione returned to me. I want to put it back where it belongs.

~FIN.